


(dream smp) a father's choice

by gobbledego



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Adopted Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Dead Wilbur Soot, Gen, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP Spoilers (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Niki is comforting, POV Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Phil is in denial about Wilbur dying, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Angst, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), philza minecraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gobbledego/pseuds/gobbledego
Summary: phil struggles with things he doesn't remember
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60
Collections: This collection includes works relating to Minecraft- Dream Smp.





	(dream smp) a father's choice

**Author's Note:**

> tw // grief, hints at trauma
> 
> this is based on the characters of the dream smp and has nothing to do with them as actual human beings 
> 
> THIS ONE IS SO SHIT LMAOO alls g alls g alls g alls

This world is different to what he's used to. He discovers this while whizzing through puffs of fluffy cloud, as it's all spread out beneath him then in a great blur, shacks, towers and shabby nondescript buildings alike stretching out for miles. Different, he notes, to the organisation he's so familiar with. He hasn't decided whether or not he likes it yet. 

He doesn't quite know where to land either. Below him, he can vaguely make out moving dots - or perhaps his eyes are playing tricks - and the sneaking smell of rising smoke which tickles his nose. There must be other people down there. Maybe, somewhere down there. Should he land? He doesn't know whether he'll be able to. In a world like this, he could never be quite sure.

He finds himself landing, almost subconsciously nearing the ground. He realises soon enough and instinct kicks in, large feathered wings beating rhythmically in some kind of attempt to slow his fall, but it works. His feet touch the ground. He stumbles. 

"Phil!" 

"Philza!!"

"Dad?!"

The smoke is thicker down here, and now it's not only in his nose but it's wrapped around his whole body like a bandage, and it's velvety on his face, and it's stinging tears into his eyes. He blinks them away hurriedly, but somehow one still manages to fall and Phil watches in shock as it hits the grass and as it melts into the charred green. 

His wings beat away the smoke. Phil's eyes are dry. 

Then a weight collapses upon him, barely reaching up to his neck in height, and a body is holding him tight. Then another, this one tall enough to rest a head on Phil's shoulder, and they're both clutching him and Phil can feel words emerging from them in the shudder of their shoulders but he can't hear a thing. His eyes are blurred again but he knows enough to hold them tightly back. 

Slowly, surely, his mind begins to work. He registers the gaping crater nearby - where he presumes the smoke is coming from - and he registers Niki, all tired eyes and mussed up hair. She stands nearby, looking at them with half a smile on her face, looking, but not really. He registers people, standing across the crater, weapons glinting in the harsh light of the sun. Then he registers Tommy and Tubbo, clinging to him for dear life.

Then he begins to register the noises around him, and almost immediately wishes he hadn't.

"Phil, Techno's killing everyone and I don't-" 

"Where's Wilbur, Phil? Phil?"

"I tried to stop him, Dad, I just-" 

"Phil?? Everything's gone." 

"Phil, Wilbur-" 

Across the crater screams ring through the air, accompanied by low hisses and ear-splitting booms which shake the ground that had looked so steady from up above. 

It stirs something in Phil. Something dangerously familiar, something that frightens him. Something that shakes him to life and pulls him away from Tommy and Tubbo. When he meets their eyes, one hand resting on a shoulder each, his breathing is somewhat laboured and he can't quite remember why. 

"Are you both alright?" he mutters, voice rough with overuse. When had he overused it?

They both nod furiously, though Phil notices dried blood streaking across Tubbo's button-up, his armour missing, and a number of blackening bruises littering Tommy's skin. He'd have to take care of that later. 

"Where's Wilbur, Phil?" Tommy asks, voice low and quiet. His face is passive, but Phil doesn't miss the slight tremble in his bottom lip as he speaks. 

Wilbur.

The name strikes something familiar, something warm in Phil, and it feels like it always has. It feels nice, comfortable. His eyes linger on Tommy's face, perhaps subconsciously searching for some kind of hint, before dropping to the floor. 

Wilbur.

"Phil," Tommy repeats, more urgent. His eyes are burning into Phil's skull, demanding. 

"Did something happen, Phil?" Niki, her voice closer now, soft and lilting. Phil had always liked Niki's voice. It is soothing; German singsong. 

His eyes drift back up again, looking at all three of them in wonder. 

"Wilbur.." he breathes. 

"Philza, are you alright?" Tubbo's watching him too, his eyes kinder, all wonder, less quick assumptions. Phil had taken Tubbo in as one of his own almost immediately after...

"Yeah, I'm alright," he frowns, lifting his hat briefly to ruffle his hair into place. His eyes dart to each of them in turn, then across the crater once more. Now he can see the chaos clearly, see the flashes of slashing swords and hear the faint clink of clashing armour. He flinches as another bomb goes off and winces at the piercing scream which follows. 

His next breath is shaky. 

"Phil," Tommy's voice is laced with concern now and is almost gentle. Phil blinks. "Phil, what happened to Wilbur?" 

Again. That name. He aches with the longing to recognise it, to be able to reply. To know why it strikes a chord inside of him with every time it's mentioned. 

"Tommy," he says firmly, an amused smile pulling at his lips, "I don't know who Wilbur is."

His eyes dart back to the crater for a moment, longing to catch the eye of someone he would recognise, then realises how deafeningly silent the three have gotten. It's with a hint of worry that he returns his attention to them, and with confusion that he meets their eyes. 

Tommy looks completely drained of blood, and his mouth moves like a fish's in some gaping attempt at forming words. Tubbo's brow is furrowed, and his eyes fly back and forth between Tommy and Phil, some unreadable emotion morphing his expression, while Niki's mouth is set in a downwards curve, watching Phil with unmistakable pity. Why pity? 

"What?" he asks, grinning, eager to be let in on this bizarre bit.

"Oh Phil," Niki mumbles. 

"This isn't time for a bit, big man," Tommy chuckles but there's something odd about it, something nervous, a hand running through fawny hair.

"Who's Wilbur, Tommy?" Phil's grin is so wide it verges on maniacal and he finds himself shaking his head. He can't stop. His mind pulls on his lips with a feverish despair and he knows that name, he really does, he sees it in the flicker of ghostly fingers which curve around his wrist and leave the faintest sense of cold in their wake. In the corners of Phil's mind images lurk, too shadowy to decipher, too familiar not to recall. He wants to see through the shadows, longs to know about this figure but something undeniable holds him back within his own senses, sending jolts of pain through his own blood. It hurts so badly. Phil aches. 

"I know him. God, I know him."

Tubbo is at his side again, hugging him as if his touch could rid shadows. Phil is watching, dumb, helpless, stilled as Niki whispers comforts to a frantic Tommy, as Techno's cries of anarchy echo through the craters of his own father's destruction. 

Phil is listening as a distant shadow plucks lightly at worn guitar strings, and he's the only one who hears when silken lyrics are carried through the air by an autumn breeze. Perhaps, this was simply the sound of a bubbling creek nearby, simply the mewl of a pet cat or the rustle of discoloured grass. 

Sometimes, when Phil's alone, he likes to think it's a warm voice from long ago. Blurred by shadows, safe in the dusty corners of his mind.


End file.
